


Indigo

by fancybeee



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: A reasonable amount of comfort, Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Comfort, Gen, Heavy Angst, How Do I Tag, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Indigo - Freeform, Indigo is such a good song omg it deserves more recognition, It’s so short though but i love it so much, Lizzy McAlpine, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Song Lyrics, its a bit heavy, its not just angst this time! wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29795961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancybeee/pseuds/fancybeee
Summary: You could pinpoint the exact moment he lost all hope simply by watching his eyes- they glossed over with tears and whatever light was in them before dissolved into a pool of sadness, anger, and confusion, all mixing and twisting under the mask of ignorance he wore that slowly broke with him.
Relationships: Ranboo & Toby Smtih | Tubbo
Kudos: 15





	Indigo

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck
> 
> TW FOR: Panic attack, repeated words (not repeated a lot, but still), depictions of self harm in the forms of scratching and (very loud) screaming.
> 
> I wrote this in a frenzy while sobbing all i want is a hug please
> 
> Title from: Indigo by Lizzy McAlpine

He broke.

Gasping, sobbing, unable to breath, clawing without dignity at the dirt he laid against, he broke. 

You could pinpoint the exact moment he lost all hope simply by watching his eyes- they glossed over with tears and whatever light was in them before dissolved into a pool of sadness, anger, and confusion, all mixing and twisting under the mask of ignorance he wore that slowly broke with him. 

His hands shook, and for once in his life, Tubbo felt completely and utterly alone. Nothing in the world called for him anymore- not the welcoming sunrise, nor the promising moonlight, nor the great expanses of land he’d seen before. Nothing could make him feel better, nothing at all. 

Blunt, bitten nails continued to try and tear at the grass in front of him. Years of built up stress and bottled up sadness bled into his movements, his hands shaking worse and worse by the minute. He couldn’t even hear anything anymore- only the loud rush of blood in his ears and his own quiet cries. 

That day, something deep within Tubbo came rushing back to him, getting caught in his throat with a choked back sob. His hands moved from the ground to his throat, trying desperately to scream, but he couldn’t hear it. 

He tried to let it out, tried to tire his voice so much that nothing would be left of it for weeks, maybe it’d never recover at all, but he still couldn’t understand whh nothing came out. 

_Louder._ He thought, squeezing his eyes shut tight and trying to force himself to yell. To scream, to allow every single thing he ever kept hidden in himself to rush out at once. 

He tried again, louder and harder, oblivious to the weak, scratchiness that overtook his throat until a hand on his shoulder startled him. 

Tubbo flinched away, curling into himself and continuing to sob unknowingly loud. He craved oh so much to break the silence he was surrounded by, but no matter how loud he was he couldn’t hear it at all. 

He strained his ears, tried with all his might to listen, listen for anything that could make him feel undeniably alive and breathing and existing. 

Nothing came. 

He dragged his fingernails along his arms and neck, trying to make himself feel undeniably alive and breathing and _existing._

Nothing worked. 

So he returned to sobbing into himself, screaming until his lungs gave out without ever hearing what he was screaming, and scratching himself until his arms and neck grew red and swollen. 

At some point, his muscles grew excessively weak, beyond that of simply outdoing his own physical boundaries. 

Tubbo tried to look up, tried to open his eyes again, but his eyelids fell back down again, and his head grew heavy, and he felt himself being lifted into someone's arms. 

He tried to flail, tried to communicate that he hated this, and that he couldn’t leave where he was, but a gentle vibration coming from the person’s chest made him pause for a second. 

It stopped and started, in some rhythm that was familiar, and it fluctuated in intensity, like one’s vocal cords would when they hummed or sang-

He tried to calm down, just a little, maybe enough to hear past the deafening ringing surrounding him, and then he heard it. 

Whoever was holding him- Tubbo still couldn’t open his eyes to see- was humming such a familiar tune, that he was almost forced to calm down even more at it. 

The ringing subsided, but not completely, only enough for him to hear the notes, and the sharp consonants being pronounced. 

It was so familiar, and yet Tubbo couldn’t quite put his name on it. It was calming, and he was still overtaken by the fatigue that claimed his limbs, so he just sat there, silent and unmoving, as the person carrying him walked. 

When the ringing subsided enough for him to make out words, the song was seemingly restarting. 

“Love, blue, oceans move for you…” 

It wasn’t perfect, the song wasn’t written exactly how the person sung it, but it was close enough to be nice and _human_ enough to be grounding. 

“Fire, rain, hits me all the same…” 

The fatigue that once laid deep in his bones now only made him tired, and Tubbo mustered up enough strength to settle a bit farther into the person’s arms as he continued the song. 

“Oh, indigo, indigo…” 

The deep blue color flashed into his head for a moment, overtaking his brain as the carried adjusted his weight to do something. 

“You and I, we’re indigo.” 

The soft creak of a door opening- Tubbo didn’t even know his full hearing had come back until he heard it- and quiet footsteps against hardwood. 

“Deep, deep indigo.” 

He was laid onto something soft, presumably a bed, with a pillow laid neatly under him, as he was covered with a soft, warm blanket and someone’s hand running through his hair. 

“Indigo,” The voice, which he now recognized as Ranboo, finished, with a soft sigh and a few more whispered words that Tubbo only barely heard, but he heard them nonetheless. 

“Goodnight, Tubbo.”

Although he wasn’t perfect, and though nothing would ever feel right again, and he might not ever recover from the pain and frustration he had felt today, Tubbo let himself have a quiet mind. His eyes were already closed, but somehow they felt heavy, and as his thoughts faded away, as did his conscious mind, and he slept.

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone confused about why I emphasized the whole not being able to hear until he calmed down thing, it’s very common for me when I have panic attacks to not be able to hear or understand anything thats being said, and if I was trying to scream I’d just think it was an intense ringing in my ears. I dont know if that happens to many people, but :/ 
> 
> Also, at first as I wrote this I didn’t have any idea who I was going to be writing about, so until about half way through the fic there was no solid person in mind. I was kind of flip-flopping between Ranboo and Tubbo, but i eventually chose Tubbo (obviously)


End file.
